


Burning

by Selador



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blasphemy, Consensual, Dirty Talk, Divine Dirty Talk, Double Penetration in Two Holes, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex God, Spitroasting, Two Ifrits, Worship, i'm not sure how to tag this to be honest, probably somehow, sex with terrifying divine beings, spitroasted by a fire god, wildly an AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-24 01:38:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13800654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selador/pseuds/Selador
Summary: Prompto distracts Ifrit through inadvisably flirty shit talk.It distacts Ifrit far better than Prompto ever suspected.(He's not complaining, though.)





	Burning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inkwellofstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkwellofstars/gifts).



> A prompt request for how a Prompto/Astral fic would work, based on [this post here](http://seladorie.tumblr.com/post/169836000675/the-ot4-or-just-noctis-iggy-and-prompto)
> 
> I was inspired
> 
> and ugh all of Ifrit's text was supposed to be in a different font, but AO3 ate it and I don't have the time to figure out how to code it back in manually

Bullets fire out of Prompto’s gun with brief flashes of light, disappearing into the flesh of their target, but to no visible effect. After all, what good are bullets against a _god_?

Noctis darts here and there, to avoid Ifrit’s blade and flames; Gladio hacks away at his ankles, shield protecting himself only at the last moment; Igns covers entire swaths of ground into ice, but they quickly evaporate into faint steam with just a careless footfall of the astral.

And Prompto stands away, much safer than the others, fire useless bullet after bullet.

Everytime Ifrit swings his sword, Prompto expects his friends to never rise again.

He swears his heart stops when Ifrit’s sword knocks Noct out of the air, and only starts again when he sees Gladio there with his shield up, barely holding back the giant blade.

It’s enough. Prompto has to do something. Anything. Ifrit’s been ignoring him this entire time, because his bullets are doing _nothing_.

“HEY!” Prompto yells. “ _I thought I was here for a hot date with an astral! But so far, all you’ve been is A HOT PIECE OF ASS!_ ”

Ifrit, towering and terrifying, turns to look at Prompto. It gives the other some respite, so he continues, “ _You can’t even hit anything with that HUGE FUCK OFF sword! What’s even the point_!” Prompto takes a deep breath, inhaling smoke in the process, and screams over the sound of the roaring inferno consuming everything nearby. “ _Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not the SIZE that matters, but how you use it!_ ”

There is a brief moment that is likely a millisecond objectively, but lasts an eternity, where Prompto realizes that he fucked up. He’s not sure how. Not sure what it was that was the tipping point exactly. He could not pinpoint what it is that draws him to this conclusion, either.

But Ifrit, powerful, merciless, terrible Ifrit stares at him while he screams, and his expression doesn't show human emotions.

It shows something, though. And it’s enough for Prompto to think, _Oh, shit._

The astral’s giant form evaporates into fire, rushing towards him. Prompto can do nothing save lift his arms up, protectively, and he’s fortunate that Ifrit doesn’t incinerate him right then and there, choosing instead to materialize into a smaller, but just as deadly, form.

He knocks Prompto down, and they slide into the flames devouring the town. Prompto gasps, and he feels fire around him and in his lungs and licking his skin but—it doesn’t hurt. The Astral’s doing but—why?

“Get off!” Prompto yells, trying futilely to shove the god off of him. “What the hell are you doing to me?”

“ **Was that a challenge, mortal?** ” says Ifrit, hand hot and pressing against Prompto’s throat. He can’t hear Noctis or the others over the flames, or see beyond Ifrit’s face.

“Hell _yeah_ it was,” Prompto says, because he doesn’t know what the others are doing but he’s got to give them time. “I bet that sword is overcompensation,” he says, words spewing from his mouth without any consideration. “Can astrals even fuck?” And before he can stop himself, or think even a little bit, _hey, maybe I do want to survive this_ , he adds, “Do you even have a _dick?_ ”

Ifrit stares at him, eyes gleaming like molten lava. Prompto squirms a bit, testing the Astral’s hold but there’s no give to them at all. A hand remains unmoved on his throat, arms pressing into his chest, and the length of Ifrit’s body pinning him down.

Prompto’s not burning. He would expect to, this close to fire and with the God of Fire himself touching him. His arms burn like hot iron, but Prompto at worst feels a little singed.

(But mostly just sweaty.)

“ **The human shape is based off of our form** ,” Ifrit says, “ **you have nothing we did not give you**.”

“Yeah, well,” Prompto says, still trying to push the astral off of him, “we’re really good at fucking up ourselves _without_ your help, so maybe fuck off? And leave us alone?”

“ **Ah, but you have issued a challenge** ,” the astral says, but he turns and looks behind. Prompto flinches at the movement of the horns, all of which are really too close for comfort. “ **Your friends are persistent**.”

He gets out, “Fuck yeah they are—” before the world vanishes in a rush of fire that consumes his world entirely for a long moment, before leaving him somewhere new.

When his eyes and ears readjust, Prompto is… in a temple. On something soft. The air distorts itself, and he can’t focus for a moment.

Ifrit gets off of him, so Prompto sits up. He’s on a bed, but it’s the only bit of furniture in the room, and it’s circular with cushions and silk and much too like an altar. “What the fuck?” he gets out.

“ **You issued a challenge** ,” says Ifrit, coming back to the _bed_ that Prompto’s on, crawling to him with intent until Prompto’s fallen flat on his back. Ifrit’s thigh slots between his legs and his arms bracket Prompto’s head. His pupil-less eyes stare down into Prompto’s and he thinks, _Oh, I think I’ve gotten in way over my head._ “ **And your friends’ goal in summoning me was to form a covenant, was it not**?”

“It… is,” Prompto says. He thinks he knows what’s happening, but he also really doesn’t _believe_ it.

The thigh presses against Prompto’s crotch and he yelps into lips that claim his own.

Prompto’s been kissed before. Maybe not a lot, but he knows what lips are supposed to feel like. They’re soft, chapped, sometimes teeth get in the way, and always taste like mouths and whatever chapstick the owner of the lips have on.

This is not like that.

It’s not like _that_ at all. The lips feel like fire, a fire that spreads to his own lips and skin and _burns_.

“Oh,” Prompto pants, when Ifrit leans back. His thoughts are scrambled, but he gets out, “we… we didn’t have to have sex to form covenants with… with any of the other gods…”

“ **It is not a necessity** ,” Ifrit murmurs, hand brushing up his neck to rest softly on his cheek. “ **And I cannot do anything to you that you do not consent to. So I will ask you now; do you want this**?”

“I—” Prompto begins, trying to think beyond the heat and the body pressed against him. “What is this? What are you going to do to me?”

“ **I am going to ravish you** ,” Ifrit says, “ **until prayers in my name are the only words that fall from your lips; until my touch is the only sensation you can feel on your skin; until all you dream of is me inside of you**.”

Prompto’s mouth opens as hot pleasure curls in his gut, staring at the god above him. “And then you’ll let me go?”

“ **I will let you go, to return to your friends** ,” says Ifrit, “ **to return to your mission. But you will never not know me**.”

“I can definitely live with that,” Prompto says faintly. He lifts his hand, intertwining his arm with Ifrit’s, to run his fingers down the god’s horns. Ifrit bears his weight down further onto Prompto, his approval well obvious. “But you’re making a lot of promises, hot stuff. Can you really deliver?”

Ifrit grins, and kisses Prompto hard. His hands come up to cup his face, and Prompto wraps his own around Ifrit’s horns to lift himself up into the kiss.

 _I’m kissing a god_ , Prompto thinks.

Ifrit’s hands travel down his neck, his chest, and settle on his hips. And it’s… odd. Prompto’s been around Noct and the others so long that it’s weird when hands _don’t_ have calluses.

Ifrit’s hands weren’t soft exactly, but they certainly weren’t rough either.

Prompto arches in surprise when other hands take his wrists and move them up and away from Ifrit. He gasps, opening his eyes and pulling away from the god, to look up and see…

Ifrit?

“What…” Prompto begins, eyes flickering between the Ifrit on top of him and the Ifrit kneeling by his head, holding firmly onto his arms. His mouth goes dry at the realization that he might be a little in over his head.

“ **I made you a promise** ,” the Ifrit on top of his says. He travels down Prompto’s neck to his chest, Prompto’s clothes vanishing with a lick of fire. He makes a sound of protest because _his clothes, man_ , but Ifrit says, “ **You will not leave here disappointed**.”

Prompto shivers, because that sounded a lot like a threat.

Ifrit’s lips on his chest have a similar effect as to when they were on his lips. Heat, warm and cloying, sinks under his skin.

Prompto gasps, and moans, and loses his train of thought as Ifrit travels lower and lower.

For a brief moment, Prompto wonders if a god is going to suck his dick, but Ifrit pulls away before he reaches there.

His fingers trail down his thigh, going lower. His hands are still warm, but also wet, now. An strangely, Prompto can smell cinnamon. “How are you taught to treat a god, Prompto?” Ifrit asks him. He doesn’t wait or a response as his fingers reach his entrance, and he slips an finger inside of him.

Prompto gasps and lets out of a shaky moan. “You—you do know what you’re doing…”

“ **Of course I do** ,” Ifrit says, working the finger in and out slowly. “ **I am the god of fertility, as much as I am the god of fire. I bring prosperity and ruin in the same breath**.”

“Oh, good,” Prompto says, groaning as Ifrit adds another finger. The Ifrit by his head keeps his implacable hold on his arms, his face impassive as he stares down at Prompto.

Prompto closes his eyes, a little unnerved at the reminder of how _inhuman_ the astral is, and turns his face to the side, nose brushing Ifrit’s thigh. He squirms when Ifrit adds a third finger, and a fourth. With his other hand, he slowly strokes his thigh, so close to touching him where it would count.

Without really thinking it through, Prompto bites Ifrit’s thigh.

“ **Impatient** ,” the Ifrit he just bit says.

“ **We’ve only just begun** ,” the Ifrit working him open says.

He shivers, despite the heat in and around him.

When he feels nothing but the heat, when it’s saturated his entire body, the Ifrit hold him down leans further over him. “ **He’s ready**.”

Prompto whines when Ifrit pulls out of him, and gasps when he grabs his hips and flips him over onto his knees. “ **You know how to kneel in worship, do you not**?” Ifrit whispers, rubbing his behind.

Prompto nods, opening his eyes, and— “Ha,” he says, staring at the dick in front of his face, but moving forward all the same. “Never had to suck dick at a shrine before.”

“ **No. I would have noticed you earlier, if you had** ,” says Ifrit, guiding Prompto’s head down to his divine dick. Prompto swallows, staring at it, realizing that while Ifrit downsized himself, he’s still bigger than even Gladio.

In more ways than one.

Prompto licks his lips, and at the urging of the large hands on his head, leans down to lick the tip, wrapping his hands around the base.

It’s as hot as the rest of him. And Prompto finally knows the answer to a question he never asked, but a god’s dick tastes like cloves and wood smoke, a little bit.

He feels hands on his hips but isn’t prepared for how they lift him up easily off the cushions. He pulls his mouth away from Ifrit, to say, “Whoa, hold on—” as he grips tighter around his waist, no longer touching the floor.

He feels the hard, hot length of Ifrit rest on the cleft of his ass, before he pulls back and lines up.

“Oh, boy,” Prompto murmurs into the other Ifrit’s waist. His hands rub soothingly against his shoulder.

He somewhat expects Ifrit to enter him roughly, to be fast and fiery when he fucks him, but his preparation was thorough. Ifrit slides in smoothly, taking Prompto’s breath away.

Prompto’s breath comes rapidly, as Ifrit sets a demanding pace. When fingers touch his hair, he looks up in surprise, and remembers that he has something to be occupying his mouth with.

He stares at it, resisting the hands trying to urge him forward because he _can’t_ fit that into his mouth. It won’t work. His jaw hurts at even the thought.

“It’s not gonna fit,” Prompto says when the fingers curl into his hair. Ifrit stops, and runs a finger across his lips, considering.

“Oh, holy shit—!” Prompto exclaims as Ifrit’s dick _shrinks_ before his eyes. “That’s—that’s a useful trick.”

“ **Is that suitable**?” asks Ifrit.

“Y-Yeah, that I can do,” Prompto says.

Cautiously, he takes the head into his mouth, and lets hands guide him further down along the length. He swallows around it, a bit nervously, but Ifrit removes his hands from his hair and strokes the back of his fingers against his cheeks, lingering where his lips wrap around his girth. “ **You look beautiful in worship** ,” Ifrit says.

Prompto makes a noise because _what a thing to say_ , but Ifrit thruts a little bit further into his mouth, and he loses the thought.

He gets lost in the sensations, of Ifrit before and behind him, but when he closes his eyes, finger brush against his brow with a whispered, “Look at me,” so Prompto tries.

If he felt heat permeate his entire being before, it was nothing compared to how he feels now. The heat has sunken into his soul at this point, burning hotter with every thrust. Tears unwillingly fall from his eyes when it becomes too much, writhing in the god’s grip as he comes all over the cushions beneath him. He goes limp, completely allowing the god to manipulate his body as he chooses, and he whimpers as they fuck him until hot liquid spills into his mouth.

Prompto doesn’t think he’ll ever get the smell of wood smoke and cloves out of his nose.

The Ifrit behind him lowers him down, and leans over him, the length of his body covering his.

“ **You seem satisfied** ,” Ifrit murmurs.

Prompto hums, vaguely, probably, in agreement.

“ **But we’ve only just begun** ,” the Ifrit before him says, “ **When you leave here, there will be no part of you my fire has not touched**.”

Prompto shudders despite the warmth, feeling this truth in his bones.

…

When the others find him, long after the fire has died out, Prompto limps towards them with a large smile on his face.

…

Prompto whistles into the empty shrine, people having long abandoned any worship for Ifrit. He keeps whistling as he sets up a blanket on the ground, lights some candles, and undresses.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” Prompto says into the echoing silence. “I can’t get the smell of you out of my nose, and you ignore me.” He sits down, naked, on the blanket. The blanket isn’t much for an altar, but it’ll fit his purposes. “But then I remembered that thing you said last time,” he says conversationally, as he rifles through his bag, pulling out a small, cloth sack. “About how you would have noticed me earlier, if I’d, you know, sucked dick at one of your shrines. So I thought—is that how I’m supposed to get your attention?” From the cloth sack, he takes out a small dildo.

“I’m not sure what forming a covenant was supposed to accomplish, really,” he keeps going, as he takes out his lube and spreads his legs. “I’m glad we didn’t have to fight you, but come on. You could have at least shown up for the boss battle, man. It was pretty epic.”

He slathers the dildo with lube, leans back onto his hand with a sigh, and slips the tip inside of him, shivering a bit at the cold sensation.

“Not much, compared to you,” Prompto says, “but it’ll have to do. At least until you decide to grace me with your presence.”

“ **Prompto**.”

Prompto opens his eyes.

Ifrit kneels before him, staring at him intently.

“ **What are you doing here, Prompto**?”

“ _Worshiping_ ,” Prompto says, closing his eyes, ignoring the astral watching him. “Since my other attempts haven’t worked. I’ve been _disappointed_ for quite a while now.”

“ **You did not leave disappointed** ,” Ifrit says, “ **I kept my word**.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been disappointed since. Not even a phone call. Or a text,” Prompto says, working the dildo in him faster. “Seems pretty _unbefitting_ of a god, to let a worshiper go unsatisfied for so long.”

“ **I suppose it is** ,” Ifrit says after some consideration and Prompto opens his eyes briefly to see the smile in his words. “ **What is it that you want? I cannot do anything to you that you do not ask**.”

“Is that a hard and fast rule, or is it flexible?” Prompto asks because Ifrit did a hell of a lot to him last time without specific requests.

“ **It is as meaningful as language makes it** ,” Ifrit responds. “ **And your answer**?”

“Well, this dildo sure ain’t gonna get me to where I want to be,” Prompto says, “I wouldn’t say no to some help. And maybe some more help later on. Or some mutual worship.”

“ **I see** ,” Ifrit says, crawling forward towards him on the blanket. “ **I believe I can satisfy those requests**.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Burning Fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13802799) by [suarhnir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suarhnir/pseuds/suarhnir)




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